


Stag Night

by Huggle



Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, Hurt Ben Jones, Hurt/Comfort, Protective John Barnaby, Scared Ben Jones, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24914755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: Samuel Quested wasn’t the type of man to forgive or forget; he still has some friends and if he wants his position back as head of the valley, he’ll have to start by showing a certain copper just what it means to make an enemy of him.And he knows just how to do it.
Relationships: John Barnaby & Ben Jones
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Stag Night

**Author's Note:**

> Set shortly after ‘Night Of The Stag” and references the attempted sexual rape of Esme in that episode. 
> 
> Additional content warning in the end notes.

The first time Ben knew something was wrong was when he heard his bedroom floorboards creak. 

It was an old house, and he’d gotten used, as you do, to the sounds it made as it warmed up and cooled down, when it was windy in the winter or when the heating came on in the morning.

But since he was used to those sounds, he knew that particular floorboard only made that creepy, coffin hinge noise when someone stood on it, and right then, he was the only person in the house.

Or so he thought, and he shot upright to find someone standing there who should not have been.

Samuel Quested grinned at him, eyes manic, and chortled.

“Alright there, young copper?”

The last thing Ben saw was Quested’s meaty fist coming at his face.

++

John groaned as he reached over for his mobile phone. He still ached from the fight with Quested, and he was still a little shaken from nearly being shot.

The sense of helplessness at his inability to protect himself, or Jones, hadn’t left him. Samuel Quested was a dangerous man to have so many people in this thrall, but at least now he was in the local police station, with formal charges brought.

As John had promised him earlier, he was confident the man would be in prison for a very long time.

So now, it seemed, on to the next case, and he stared bleary eyed at the mobile’s screen, expecting to see Ben’s name and number.

Instead, it was one he didn’t recognise.

“Hello?”

He listened for a moment, and then sat up sharply in bed. “When?”

Sarah stirred, awakened by his tone. “John?”

“Yes, have a car sent here immediately,” he said. “And one to DS Jones’s house as well. I’ll meet it there.”

He hung up and clambered out of bed, grabbing a pair of trousers and a jumper from the wardrobe.

“John, what’s wrong?” Sarah was fully awake now, sitting up, looking afraid at how hurriedly he was dressing. Even a murder in the night didn’t see these levels of urgency.

“I want you to take Sykes and go next door,” John said. He tugged on the clothes and then grabbed his mobile and dialled Ben’s number. “Just until the patrol car gets here, and then they’ll sit with you until I’m back.”

“What’s going on?”

Ben’s number rang out, and John felt something cold curved around his spine. It could be that Ben was sleeping. He’d taken the worst of it, when he’d been grappling with Quested’s friends, and Kate had sorted him out with some strong painkillers.

It could be something else.

“Samuel Quested,” John said. “ _The Stag_. He’s escaped custody.”

“But how on earth…”

John shoved his feet into his trainers. “I don’t know, but I’ll find out. After what he said, though…. I can’t get a hold of Ben.”

“Go on,” Sarah said, and patted the bed until Sykes bounded up and into her arms. “We’ll be fine next door.”

John kissed her, and then ran downstairs. He checked the house as he did, and the gardens, but they were empty, and he waited long enough for Sarah to be safely admitted by their neighbours before he ran to the car.

He doubted Quested would come here, despite what the man had said, all threats and craziness during his interview; yes, he had mentioned John’s wife, hinting at how much she would have enjoyed the villages’ tradition, but most of his attention had been on Jones.

And now...John was scared.

++

Quested had a big man. It had taken the two of them to haul him off Esme, back at the house, and even in cuffs he had been difficult to control.

Now, his own cuffs tight around his wrists, and Quested’s knee in his back, pinning him to the bed, Ben knew his only hope was that someone had heard his cries.

Quested had quickly shut him up, though, by grabbing a pillowcase and stuffing it in Ben’s mouth.

“You are a loud one, aren’t you,” he sneered. “It’ll do you no good, now, though, eh? Nobody will have heard you, my son, and nobody will be coming to rescue you, especially not that boss of yours. Big fella, isn’t he? But it still took two of you and now I’ve got you on your own.”

To do what, exactly, Ben wanted to know. He didn’t doubt Quested was insane enough to kill him; he’d murdered two people, and tried to rape a young woman.

The hate and rage in his eyes when John had won, when he’d turned the villagers against him, exposed his secret dealings, was chilling, but Jones had never thought to see the man again outside of a court setting.

He didn’t understand how Quested could be here, but right then that didn’t matter.

Ben just had to survive long enough for help to come and do whatever it took to do so.

He went limp on the bed, panting through his nose, and Quested patted his head in some obscene gesture of reward.

“Eh, that’s my lad, there now. No sense in getting all worked up over it; not when it’ll make no difference at all. I suppose you’re wondering how I got away, eh? And why I’m here?

“Well, I told you, didn’t I? My people are loyal to me. They’d never leave me in the hands of coppers. And as for why I’m here? Some of them need reminding who’s in charge of that valley. Who they should be mindful of. And your boss, he needs to be reminded that nobody crosses Samuel Quested. Not without consequences. Especially not since he robbed me of a pleasurable night.”

Ben went still, frozen in place. God, no, he couldn’t mean….

Quested laughed, and swatted Ben’s arse, his thick hand leaving a sharp line of pain even through the younger man’s pyjama bottoms. “Look at you, shaking like that revenue bloke. Aye, I’d show you a thing or two, young man, if I were that way inclined. Lucky for you, I’m not. Or maybe not so lucky.”

He stood up, wrapping his arms around Ben and lifting him easily onto his feet.

“I’ll just have to think of something else to do instead.”

++

John kept a spare set of keys for Jones’ house, for emergencies; it had been Sarah’s idea, when Jones hadn’t turned up for work one morning, or called in, and John had gone away with a stern lecture in mind to find his sergeant passed out on the floor after catching some horrid bug from fishing something out of a local pond during an enquiry.

That day had seen John put Jones’ door in, driven by the horror of seeing Ben unmoving just a few feet away.

But tonight he didn’t have to do so, or use the keys, because Jones’ door was lying wide open.

The edge was chipped as if it had been forced by something large driven between the door and the jamb, and that meant John might be too late.

He checked the living room and the kitchen as he moved carefully inside; if Quested was still here (please, he prayed, let him still be here, because if he was then he wasn’t done, and there might still be a chance), John couldn’t afford to be caught off guard.

But Jones wasn’t downstairs, and so that left the first floor.

He took the stairs cautiously, and then he was on the landing.

Jones’ house was small. The upper floor held only one bedroom, and a small cupboard opposite, at the end of the hall, and then Quested was backing out of the bedroom with Jones pulled up against him.

He had him cuffed, hands behind his back, and something stuffed in Jones’ mouth to silence him.

“Let him go,” John said.

Quested stared at him with such hate that John almost recoiled. He’d suspected, earlier, that the man was crazed, and that he’d hurt or kill anybody he had to, or who crossed him, with no remorse at all.

Now he was sure of it.

Quested’s hand shot up to squeeze Jones’ throat. “Or you’ll do what, eh, copper? I’ve got you, here; I can snap his neck before you’re even halfway to us, and you’ll have had it coming.”

“So what it is that you want, Samuel?” John tried not to look at Jones’ eyes. He had to play this game with Quested, again, and he dare not lose. He couldn’t risk looking anywhere but at the man who held his sergeant’s life in his hands. “You got away, somehow, and you could have gone anywhere. Even got out of the country, I imagine, but instead this is where you come. Why?”

Even if he could just stall for time. Uniformed officers were on their way, but it struck him then that their presence might antagonise Quested further. If this was about revenge, he might still be convinced to choose freedom first, and escape (and John would let him, since he’d not get much further than the outskirts of town, not with a squad of police on their way to arrest him).

But if it was something else, then he might not be caring about getting away, in which case he was more dangerous than ever.

“Why?” Quested bellowed at him. “Why? Did you see what you did? Best me, belittled me, in front of my own people? Ruined what I’d planned? No, don’t play so coy with me, inspector. You’ve a reckoning coming, and that is why I’m here.”

So it was revenge, of a sort, but more to assuage his battered ego. 

“Then take it up with me, not him.”

“Ah, but this is how to get you, though, isn’t it? You’re responsible for him. He’s your sergeant, under your wing, eh?”

John clenched his fists. He could point out that it was probably more like Jones was half Quested’s size and, if caught off guard, less likely to win a physical confrontation than John himself, who was more of a fair match.

“So if you value his well being that much,” Quested said, “all you have to do is kneel. Go on, down you go, copper. And apologise for all you’ve upset, years of work and tradition. For the disrespect you’ve shown me.”

Jones made a strangled protest, and Quested grabbed him under the chin, forcing Jones’ head back enough to turn it into a cut off cry of pain.

“Alright,” John said. “You’ve made your point; you don’t have to hurt him. I’ll kneel, Samuel, and then you can let him go and we can settle this between us.”

“All talk, Barnaby,” Quested said. “But you’re still on your feet. Maybe if I broke one of his fingers, eh? Would that get you moving something other than your mouth?”

John grimaced but went down onto his knees, temper shading his cheeks.

“There, there, look at that my lad!” Quested forced Jones to look at him. “Now. The rest of it.”

“I’m sorry,” John said. “For disrespecting you. For showing you up in front of your friends. For telling them all what you’d done.”

“What I’d done,” Quested said, “was for the good of the villages.”

No, John thought, it was for the good of yourself. But saying that could see Jones badly hurt, so he didn’t.

Quested stood there, breathing hard, as close to the edge as anybody John had ever seen. The threat of what he might do was there, in his eyes, in the way his fingers dug into Jones’ face, and John knew his sergeant would bear the bruises of this for days to come.

He refused to let it be any more than that.

In the distance, he heard the first sirens, and he knew Quested did too.

“I don’t think you are sorry,” Quested said. “Not really. But you will be.”

It all went very quick, then, John left in no doubt that the next few seconds would make the difference between Jones living or dying.

He charged to his feet and threw himself at Quested, even as the other man locked his forearm under Jones chin and started to pull back.

John punched him in the gut, hard enough to make him wheeze, and hack, and to loosen his grip. He gave Jones a hard shove, enough to send him stumbling back onto the bed and, for now, out of harm’s way.

And then it was just him and Quested, with one prize to be won.

Jones’ life.

John had never been much for physical violence, had always relied on his wit and on being able to read people, to see what went on inside them, to get out of trouble.

But when the occasion called for it, he was not helpless, even if he more relied on his size and strength than the self defence techniques taught in training. 

Here, they’d be useless; they’d done nothing to stop Jones being overpowered, and against Quested’s size and crazed temperament, John was sure they’d do just as much.

They grappled, staggering into the wall as they struggled the length of the hall, and then they were at the stop of the stairs.

There was a moment, them both seeming to hang there, between falling and not, and then John managed to push his own weight backwards, regaining his balance, and pushing Quested away from him.

He went down, loud and heavy, and somehow John knew the outcome even before he heard the loud, sickening crack as Quested ended up in the corner of the landing, upside down, with his head tilted so far to the left that there was no question of his survival.

He heard voices calling out then, and two uniformed officers looked from Quested up to him.

“Ambulance,” John snapped. 

“Sir,” the first PC said. “I think he’s dead.” He knelt down, and pressed two fingers gently to Quested’s throat.

“Not for him.”

John ran back to the bedroom, and Jones was trying, feebly, to turn himself over.

John did it for him, moving him onto his side, kneeling behind him for support.

“Just...let me…”. He grabbed the edge of the material sticking out of the sergeant’s mouth, and carefully tugged it free.

It was a pillowcase, sodden and thick and then Jones started to cough, so hard that John winced for him.

“Easy, just try to breathe normally. You’re alright, Jones.”

“Qu...Quested?” His voice sounded painfully hoarse.

“Dead,” he assured him. “And an ambulance is on the way. Where are the keys?”

Jones directed him to the corner where Quested had tossed them, and a moment later he had the cuffs undone and thrown aside, and was carefully sitting Jones up.

He had the start of an epic black eye and John carefully examined his face.

It would hurt, but he didn’t think the damage was serious.

“Are you hurt anywhere else? Did he touch you anywhere else?”

Jones went pale, and for a moment John didn’t know what to say.

“I thought,” Jones started. “But he was just trying to scare me. He managed.”

John patted Jones’s shoulder. “He’s not going to scare anyone again. Let’s you get down to that ambulance, and then I’d better phone Sarah and let her know you’re alright.”

He helped Jones up and held on to him when they reached the stairs and saw Quested’s body; getting past it was difficult but then they were downstairs, and the ambulance was pulling up, and two paramedics took Jones from him.

John stayed close as his sergeant was tended to, aware the danger was over, but still unable to stray too far.

++

It turned out that one of the police officers at the station had grown up in the valley, and helped Quested escape.

He was now under arrest and detained.

It was over.

Jones had some bruising, and abrasions around his wrists from the cuffs, and would have a very tender throat for a few days, but the doctor at the hospital was reasonably certain he didn’t have a concussion.

Even so, a period of overnight monitoring was recommended, and so John took Jones home with him.

He doubted Sarah would be satisfied with a cursory assurance of Ben’s wellbeing, and sure enough she immediately took Jones from him and sat him at the table with peppermint and honey tea, while she herded John upstairs to prepare the guest room.

“Are you sure you’re both alright?:

He grabbed some spare linen from the cupboard and set up making the bed.”

“I think he got a fright; as well as being punched unconscious.”

“Who wouldn’t,” Sarah said. She was pale as she looked at him. “And you?”

Yes, John wanted to say. I got a fright as well, because I honestly…

He hadn’t expected to find Jones alive, or if so in anything but the poorest of conditions.

“I’m alright.” 

Sarah shook her head. “What a pair you are. Go on, bring him up here. I’ll sit with him for the first few hours and then we can swap.

John pulled her into his arms, and kissed her, and let her hold him.

He was not alright, but it helped that tonight he’d saved his sergeant, kept him from being brutalised and murdered by a psychotic narcissist. 

It helped that Jones was under their roof, safe for tonight, and that the person who’d tried to kill them both would never do so again.

Sarah petted his cheek as she sent him downstairs to collect Ben and helped get him settled before sending John and Sykes off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Quested lets Ben think he’s going to try and sexually assault him since he and John thwarted his attempt to rape Esme, but he’s just trying to scare him.


End file.
